“I thought I saw the Devil,
Looking at the mirror
Drop of rum;
On my tongue, with the warning.
To help me see myself clearer”
Fourth wall, as in ‘writer’s wall’ is a practice, modicum, dictum—however it may be interpreted—which does not allow the author to interact with the world beyond his own sheet of paper. Dear and respected Jury, on this Day of Judgment, let us break this meaningless wall blatantly. Rather than being an essay, let this be a conversation, a confession, and we will be blatant about it. We shall have no fears, because we have got nothing to lose. For once, we shall not have any regrets about it. Welcome, and step inside, my mind, where chaotic raging storms are hidden behind a thin veil of garrulous and continuous malarkey. Pleased to have you here. This is my Capriccio.
All the time, and particularly in the recent years, I witness a growing problem in the society. Today’s youth face a lot of problems. We are transitioning into an age we worship the demon of speed. Faster; faster; faster; need to move faster. And we conform this demand. “We sweep across the dance-floor to subjective truth”. We are obsessed with the minutiae of frivolous materialistic possessions.
Who am I to say? Indeed, forgive me, my apologies. It is true, in this vast system, I have very little against it. After all, the system is moving. And maintaining its integrity is far more important than risk failing into complete and utter chaos. I am one of those many who are so afraid of the change that they gladly shoulder a war against the unknown. Knowledge is power. We easily fall into the despair not knowing. We fear that change will throw our little cozy dollhouse world in disarray. We cannot do it; we cannot; we cannot. We tangle ourselves in the caustic threads of fear and restriction. And when tangled enough, we cower more. Can you see, dear Judge? Can you see this bottomless pit? This endless spiral where one falls into? And finally, we are just left with little thin threads that hold us against our own. This happens; this happens every time. We all believe, we all believe that for millions, billions of years, everything, every path, all those alternate realities, all of those prospective futures had led us to this place, to this time, had connived against us, and won. We face defeat!
Forgive my conniptions.
To those who are still alive, you will find a hundred self-help books, a thousand motivational videos on Youtube. It’s easy to watch a video, it’s easy to stand on the ledge, and last of all, it’s easy to allow yourself be entangled.
“You have it all, you lost your mind to the sound.
There’s so much more, you can reclaim your crown.
You are in control;
Get rid of the monsters in your head,
Put all your faults to bed.
You can be king again.”
Oh dear! There I went squabbling again! Its funny, how this is not being very creative at all. Do you agree with me, dear Judge? Do you think that I am not being creative? You must have seen similar writings hundreds of time, thousands maybe. I am not as experienced as you are, but I am sure that in the creative field, such fits and gibberish are all very common. So rather than just talking about nothing. Let me tell you a story. This will be the story of a boy who is no longer with us.
A braver little kid, there never was. Never lacked guts, never lacked aplomb. Always helping, always caring, he shared a camaraderie with us that few others did. But alas! He is no longer with us. I cannot recall well enough, but if quivering memory serves, he has left on a journey. He had a dream. And with that dream, ” He shot for the sky. But he was stuck on the ground. Then why did he try? He knew he was gonna fall down. He thought he could fly. Then why did he drown? He’d never know why, he was going down down down.”
But when his fight for flight failed, he went for a sail. “And we were all in one place, a generation lost in space. With no time left to start again”. And as the rain howled outside, we were there besides his cinders, as embers gave rise to ash, and “to dust he returned”.
To him I would like to say, when we ourselves embark on that journey ad infinity everything was still as he had left it. His escapade, while furtive in the eyes of the world, had been frozen in stasis to us. And we shall stay together, and you shall, “Join us in death”.
When we were very young. There was a poem. My memories are a bit fuzzy, but it was about a boy who had crossed seven seas, not for something as cliched as a princess, but to find work, so that he could bring food to his poor mother whom he had left behind in the village. And the mother, she suffered in solitude, waiting, day and night for the return of her child. “Clocks dissolved” yet she waiting, to hear the cry “mother” once more. My dear friend-who-left-on-a-sail, I assure you, your mother is still there, your bed is still decorated just like when you were back home, the furtiveness of your disappearance has not yet affected your little sister. I assure you, everything is still just as you had left it. So you should know, that you can come back any day, any time and you will be received with open arms and a sermon will be given that befits the coronation of seven kings. And even if your portraits get yellower and your face hazier, you will always be there.
To all those who are still alive, please think. From that entanglement, the only thing that can get you out are your thoughts. Keep living, even if it means to wallow in mud, to grit your teeth, to knuckle your fists, keep living, like a pest, like a vermin, cling to that sorry life of yours like there is no tomorrow. For there is no glory in death, only the face of a scarpering coward who was shameless and selfish enough to not give two pence to the feelings of those around him. Deceasement is neve4r associated with an ‘Ode to Joy’, what entails it is Lacrimosa followed by Requiem.
Dear Judge, time is running low, yet I have so much more to say. Beyond my dry chuckles, let me respectfully thank you for allowing me a part of your time. What happens to my judgement is of no real consequence. What perhaps, is important is the heart behind it all. I never meant to turn out this way. Yet, when I saw the topics, I could not resist myself, consequences be damned! Which topic I have followed, again, I cannot say for sure. It should be a concoction, comprising of number two and number three. Whatever it might be, my pantomime is over. Let the curtains drop. This is the end to this “Twilight Theater”